Half-Mile Hill
by Rangerapprentice
Summary: A songfic about Aomine one day, when he's just reminiscing on some old stories.


Eight-year-old Aomine Daiki smiled up at his father, standing on top of the half-mile hill that lay looking over their city from the north with the world below them. The man had said he'd needed to talk to his son; what the blue-haired boy didn't understand was why his dad's suitcase was packed, with boxes shoved tightly in the back of his car. He was moving out. He always said it was no one's fault.

Aomine still had his doubts about it today, even as he lay half-asleep after school up on the half-mile hill. A huge oak tree towered over him, dappled shadows hiding the afternoon sun as he tried to doze.

Giving up, he sat up and looked over the town. The little league ball fields, all the way across town, looked so small; but even way back then he could see them. Closer to the town center, he could see cars going around the courthouse. If he waited long enough, the sun would go down in the distance, the streetlamps winking on one by one as it did.

Turning his blue eyes to the sky, the prodigy sighed. He wished he was like a cut-string kite. Then he could drift along with the wind, tapping on the floor of heaven as long as he pleased…

Then again, who would listen to some ridiculous notion like that?

Lying back down, he thought of the old story his dad had always told him before he'd left. The summer they, his parents, had turned 17, they had sat up on this very hill and kicked beer cans off the side at the end of summer one last time before she left to study in America. They were going together. Back then, she'd been wildcat tough, and his dad scarecrow thin, and the old man had always said, "We were thick as thieves until the bitter end. We wanted to make time stand still so we could stay here, in the town we'd grown up in."

Aomine half-shut his eyes, thinking of a tune his mother always hummed about some of the crazy people in this town. Lovers, leavers… the stuck in-betweeners… Loners and stoners, old drunks and dreamers. They would always rumble in a crowd, way up here to the half-mile hill, looking for something pass the No Trespassing sign that cut off the other half of the hill.

"You!"

Aomine looked to his right where a young girl, around eleven, stood behind the wooden gate. Her pristine white-blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, tails of pink joining and mixing. Steel-blue gray eyes were narrowed at him. Her pink tank top was tied on her left, showing a sliver of her midriff, and her white shorts stopped about a third of the way down her thigh. She had on white sandals that looked so clean, he figured they were new. _Her family would be able to afford that, _he thought, annoyed. This girl was such a priss. He had nothing against wealthy people, but she flaunted it all the time and showed off. He highly disliked her.

"You aren't allowed on the hill," she screeched. Her arms were crossed and he could tell she was trying to keep a smirk off her face.

Aomine shrugged, looking at the No Trespassing sign. "What?"

"What?" she snapped. "You're too close; I don't want your poorness to rub off!" She leaned on the fence, her nails looking freshly painted. "Commoners hardly know where our land begins!"

The basketball player stood, walking over to the fence. His toes were level with it. "Your dad's land begins here," he stated, letting some of his smugness creep in. She'd asked for it. "Anything behind me you have no jurisdiction over. But everything behind you, you can do whatever." He turned to go, throwing his bag over one shoulder.

"Don't come back! I see you here way too often."

He turned back to her. "Look here!" He snapped, his anger showing. "I lived here before you were even _born_, girl. I have more right to this hill than you do."

"How?" She scoffed, crossing her arms again. He stepped up to the fence again, his face being shadowed so his eyes glinted.

"I have many more memories here."

Then he turned, kicking a lone can down the side of the hill towards the forest below. More aluminum glinted down there, decades-old beer cans making a silvery field. His parents had made that. Maybe someday it'd finally get cleaned up. He hoped it didn't.

_Some part of them to keep, _he decided, then started walking down the hill, leaving the blonde girl up there. She wouldn't ever understand. Maybe when she was older, and her father wouldn't help her; then she'd understand, maybe. But for now, he'd let her snap at him all he wanted. Tomorrow he'd bring headphones and just ignore her.

Yeah… That sounded nice. Listen to some music and relax, maybe sleep. That was a good afternoon. But no one would ever listen to his crazy musings, so he left the beer can field, and the oak, strolling back into the world of his hometown.


End file.
